Back Tracking
by Moonshown
Summary: Somewhere in those three years James and Juliet had a son, and he makes it of the island with his father. But "What's done is done" is a double-edged sword and technically time travel is still possible - island or not, and James had never been one to wallow in his sorrows idly. Plus, Flashbacks to Dharma times.
1. Damn it

**Well, I have a couple of weeks holiday and I didn't feel like much else and I've been a kind of nostalgic lately (yes, I know its the show's tenth anniversary this year). Hence, this. And yes don't worry, Juliet won't remain gone for too many chapters, also I'm not planning on much angst. **

* * *

A small boy sat on the sunny lawn, the grass rising above him and hiding half of him like a lion in waiting. His gold hair glimmered and danced in the sun, standing attention in cowlicks at the front and loose curls around the back. A book lay open in his lap, at which he stared with such intent it may have just burst into flames. The dappled shade danced on pictures of _Peter Pan_ and he stared in enchantment at the pictures, his eyes two large orbs of blue. He imaged the soft sound of the bell amongst the blades of grass and laughter that had long driven home after the school bell still echoing behind him. However at the thought of Captain Hook, a shiver ran down his spine. The idea of the scraggly man that could shred him to slivers was too much - even in the afternoon's sunshine.

'Hey! Atticus!' his head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice and he slammed the book shut, feeling the cold thought of evil sea-wanderer leave his bones.

Standing, he began to run toward Uncle Miles; who lounged in the open window of his late model Mazda, his other hand on the steering wheel.

'Forget something?' Miles queries, winking his sunglasses down from his forehead.

'Dang it!' the boy swore, running back to his bag to shouldering it, then sprinting to the car and pulling with one hand at the door. He gave up threw it open with the might of both his arms and his whole weight. He flopped onto the front seat and flung his bag onto the back seat.

'Hi, Uncle Miles,' he said beginning to fiddle with the radio station until he became aware of the dark eyes trained on him from behind the glasses. His small, dirt stained hands stilled on the knobs and dials and the book on his lap slid to the floor. Without looking he leaned back into his seat and stared, his chin tilted slightly.

'Where did you learn that phrase kiddo?' Miles asked, taking off his glasses and hanging them on his ears.

Atticus figured the situation couldn't be too serious if Uncle Miles was hanging his glasses on his ears, because they looked pretty funny folding at the tips. Swinging his legs and leaning forward on his hands he stifled a small giggle.

'What's so funny?' he asked seriously then began swinging his head side to side so that his glasses wobbled and became precariously balanced, then wildly swung onto his lap.

Atticus shot back into his seat, squirming in a fit of laughter, his eyes squinting and the negative space his first baby tooth had left behind gaping. Miles grinned lopsidedly at the kid and shook his head.

'Seatbelt,' he called, replacing his sunglasses and putting the car into gear. 'You can't say stuff like that, man.'

'Say stuff like what, man?' Atticus echoed, his moods fickle and curiosity replacing the laughter, although a little smile remained on his lips.

'Stuff like "dammit",' his adopted uncle answered as he came to a stop at a set of red lights.

'I didn't say that,' the boy answered studiously looking at the red light in deep concentration. Miles almost wished he hadn't told him that with enough concentration you could turn it green. For a moment he recalled the day he told him in the backseat of the car from the "Ajira 6" press conference to the hotel. He shook himself out of his reverie and returned to the problem at hand.

'Yes you did; I remember. I said, "forget something" and then you said "dammit",' he said driving through the green and watching Atticus smile triumphantly as though he had lifted a mountain.

'That's wrong, this is how it went; you said, "forget something?", and I said "dang it".'

'Dammit and dang it are totally the same thing!' the grown man complained raising an incredulous hand in protest.

'Daddy said its different,' Atticus mumbled looking up and outside the window.

'I knew it...Lafleur taught you,' Miles clenched the fist in mock discovery and then let it fall back onto the wheel.

'Daddy was cutting the veg-Tables and then he cut his hand and he said "dang it" and something else I didn't really hear. But I told him it was se-Wer word and you aren't allowed to se-Wer and then he said I could say "dang it" once too and we would be even and no one would say it again,' Atticus told him whilst swinging his feet so high they hit the dashboard to the rhythm of the Mazda's slow and eventual destruction from inside out. Miles cringed and stopped his feet with his arm, then frowned.

'Kid you just said "dang it" like fifty times, I think you broke the promise, and its swear; S-W-E-A-R, not sewer.'

'I was phrase para-ing,' Atticus shrugged.

'It when you say something but its like you don't because if you write it you get these little fangs before and after it.' He proceeded to claw his index and middle fingers and make hissing noises at each interval; "Dang it, dang it, dang it."

'He teach you that too?'

'Yup.' Miles laughed and shook his head, then drove on in silence, giving up the argument.

'Uncle Miles.'

'Yeah?'

'You passed my house,' a small finger smudged the glass tracing the house the neat little two storey house that slid out of sight.

Suddenly Miles felt himself break into a deep frown and his rubbed the back of his neck.

'You'll be spending the night with Aaron and Claire.'

'Tonight is _Operation_ and fries night - its Wed-nes-day,' he insisted importantly, his face setting into a serious frame.

'Why do you say it like that?' he desperately tried to distract him.

'I can't spell it. Where is daddy?'

Miles sighed, Jim had never told him what to tell the boy, he just told him to drive him to Rachel's house. The first part he was competent at - there had been plenty of times when Jim couldn't pick him up. But every other day wasn't the anniversary of Juliet's death.

'He is a little under the weather, you'll be home before you know it,' Miles told him, winking half-heartedly.

_Yeah right after I go and get his ass out of whatever trouble he finds this year, _the thought tacked itself to the end of his sentence, but he didn't say a thing.

The kid just nodded, his curiosity quelled and a sense of age creeping into his eyes. What was that? That little shade that fell into his eyes? Worry? Yes. Worry. He remembered trying to care of his own mum, worry, terror and flickering contentment had made up all of his miserable childhood.

His stomach dropped at the thought.

He wished Juliet had never died - amongst a multitude of other things. He wished James wouldn't beat himself up over it every other day and hold a self-pity fiesta every year. Miles glanced at the boy who had drawn his knees up to his chest and lay his head on them, watching the world role by outside. He was the only reason James was still alive, and functioning on most levels. Without the boy Miles knew he would have croaked after six months in the real world.

_It worked. It worked. _

It had worked for them, but maybe it had worked for her too. Although Miles spoke to dead people he didn't believe they lingered around in this world. They were always some place else and the only way anyone could end up with them again was if they died too. Occasionally he toyed with the idea that Lafleur could well be living with her wherever she was. The idea disgusted him; he knew without a doubt that if Atticus didn't exist Lafleur would have it hell of a lot easier.

Sometimes he just despised the kid for existing, then wondered how James kept himself from these thoughts and loathed himself for thinking like that in the first place.

* * *

'Sawyer, where are you?'

'What's it to you Freckles?'

'What's it to Atticus?'

'Don't say his name,' James growled on the other side, his voice low and predatory with a baritone of rage that he allowed himself once a year. The date of his parents getting blown to bits was long forgotten after two years of _this. _

What had that been?

June 12th? 18th? July 18th?

He pressed the phone harder against his ear and leaned his forehead into his hand, feeling that with enough pressure his loose ends would gather right back up. He wanted so much to just pull it together, face everything for what it was and move on. But he was tired. He was bone-tired, because all his life he just had to "move-on". In some ways he was running faster than Kate.

'Look, I need to talk to you - face to face,' she said so quietly he almost missed it through his stupor and the hum of conversation that filled the bar.

'Freckles I appreciate you tryin' to be a good human bein' but let's be honest, that ain't happenin' for either of us tonight, or in the next ever,' he muttered, opening his eyes and straightening up.

'I have an idea...and besides, misery loves company,' she replied, her voice stronger this time.

'Who said I was miserable?' he asked, rubbing his face.

'Quite acting like smartass and just tell me where you are...who knows maybe if you listen and maybe if it works this time next year you won't be bottoms up in bar and your son wouldn't be spending the night away from home,' she said, her intent becoming clearer with every word.

James perked up at this, and pushed his scotch glass away, then pulled it close and tipped the rest down his throat. It burned a trail and found enough of himself at the pit of his stomach not to hang up on her and drink her words into a drunken oblivion. 'What the hell are you talkin' about Nancy Drew?'

'I just didn't take you for one who gives up...I thought tigers didn't change their stripes.'

'I'm at the The Crown, its down-town,' he said, frowning to himself and running a hand through his hair.

'I know where it is. I'll be there in ten.'

'And Kate...'

'Yeah?'

'This better be damn good,' he said, his previously slurring voice razor sharp now.

'I can't promise anything.'

'Sorry, thought you and Saint Jack were one and the same now.'

'Don't say his name,' she said, her voice becoming stone-cold.

James hung up and put the phone face down beside him, then took a deep breath and asked for his peanut bowl to be refilled.

* * *

**Yeah, I am aware Atticus is an odd name. If anyone is out there and reading this (yep Lost ended like a millennia ago), leave me a couple of words? **

**And feel free to tell me any errors you see. **

**Thank you for reading. **

**(ps. to be cont'd) **


	2. The Grand Plan

**Hullo, first of all thank you to everyone for your messages, I swear my heart swells like the Grinch every time I open FF and I see a new one. And I was thinking about the timelines and time travel and all that Island stuff and I decided Juliet didn't have an incentive to blow up the bomb this time round, so it goes differently (slight UA (Universe Alteration) if you will). Anyway that will come up in the Dharma flashbacks so do not worry. **

**Also before each jump between timelines I will put a little signature so you can get your bearing and boy was the real Lost kind of confusing some times. **

* * *

**August, 2011 - LA**

As soon as she arrived he sat up straighter and ordered another scotch as a way of apology for mentioning Jack. James and the Doctor hadn't seen eye to eye, but Jack was dead...St Jack and Juliet were _equally _dead and he couldn't pretend that if Kate had mentioned Juliet he wouldn't have blown his top. Not tonight anyway.

'So Sawyer, what's on the order this year?' she asked, taking the seat beside his.

She wore a red-brown leather jacket over a white top and light jeans. With her hair tied back in a bun she looked like she hadn't seen a rough day in her life at first glance, but James knew better, because there he also sat in a navy dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the bartender went about none the wiser. "The Ajira Six" hadn't been nearly as big as the "Oceanic Six", besides all circumstances were too odd for the media circus.

Only a few conspiracy nuts had been around to bother them.

James rolled his eyes and felt a lot less bad about his comment. 'Look, Kate, do you have something or not? 'Cause if you don't I ain't one to share nights like these.'

Kate just sighed, then downed half the drink. 'That was mine right?'

'You bet,' he replied in defeat and watched her drain the other half. 'How's Clair doing?'

She flashed a playful smile that didn't reach her eyes, 'Since when did you make chit-chat cowboy?'

Immediately he rolled his eyes and loosely put his hands up in defeat.

'She's okay, her and Aaron are getting along well.'

James glared at her momentarily; he had never asked about Aaron. What did she think this was? Single Parents from the Island Q and A?

_You know Lafleur you're really pissy, a lot of the time, _Miles' words flew into his head and against the roiling anger that was welling his chest he decided not to lay offense.

Not tonight anyway.

'Now that civilities are over and done with Miss Chatty, how 'bout you tell me what your grand idea is,' he murmured, holding up a hand for a martini, then throwing the olive on the toothpick to the side in disgust. If there was one thing he loathed; it was olives.

Yeah maybe Olives and himself.

'This might sound a little crazy.'

'Anything regarding that goddamn piece of rock is pretty loco. Go on,' James grumbled, draining the glass in one swift action.

'Before the Ajira flight took of Jack and I were speaking about how he tracked down the plane. He had found a woman by the name of Eloise Hawking-'

'Dammit Lafleur!' a hand slapped down on the bar beside him, and Miles' face contorted with anger. 'What the hell are you doing here...with her.'

He pointed at Kate as though she had descended from an alien aircraft and was consorting to steal the Statue of Liberty.

'Welcome Enis. Set your ass down, and you'll find out in a jiffy,' said James who had perked up, placing a rough hand on his shoulder and bringing him down to the stool with dull _thunk. _He had been waiting almost half and hour to hear this "grand plan" of Kate's and he could barely wait another minute to be disappointed.

'Jim I swear if this is some crackpot island voodoo I'm going to shoot you, right in the head. And then when you're dead I'll call you and ask you _how you like them apples_?' Miles gusted, his jaw clenching and his fist curled.

James just glared at him and leaned away from Kate, intruding Miles' space. 'Yeah, its about "island voodoo" and if you don't set yourself down I'm going to slap you upside the head.'

'You're unbelievable man,' Miles muttered, beginning to be pulled back down his seat with James' firm hand on a shoulder.

'What the hell is the matter with you?'

'I warned ya.'

'Are you two done?' Kate asked taking a deep breath and asking for the unknown powers of the universe to give her patience.

'Absolutely,' James said, putting his head in his hand for a second to ease the headache that was beginning. 'Go ahead.'

'Look time travel is still possible. The island was weird and special, but "whatever happened, happened", we still traveled through time. That means its possible, if it was possible then, its possible now,' she finished, cutting to the chase. The point was to get them, get Sawyer, interested. Everything after that was paperwork.

'Hate to disagree with you Kate, but did we mention that traveling through time is dangerous? Oh and did we forget to mention that Faraday's girlfriend died, because of time travel? Thanks, but no thanks,' Miles said raptly, his nostrils flaring and his brow furrowed. 'Look, James you need to get cleaned up and pick him up yourself tomorrow-'

'Hold on one damn minute!' James groused bringing his hands down to the table. 'Time travel is dangerous Freckles, but that was only when we skipped around - when we couldn't control it.'

'_We _could, _we _didn't skip. Jack, Hurley, Sayid and me, none of us died, right? Nothing happened. We were perfectly fine, we came back, we got back to our own time. And here we are now,' she said, moving to the edge of her stool and demonstrating with drawing angry circles on the table with her finger.

'Aren't you forgetting that we blew up a fucking bomb to get back?' Miles snapped reaching his rope's end with Kate. Sometimes he wondered if she had a shred of logic in that great looking skull of her's. Personally, he was pretty far from realistic too, but at least he understood the facts.

And the fact remained that the bomb, and Juliet's proximity to it had been what killed her.

James, however just eyeballed him, in denial about the bomb. He swallowed the intruding thoughts and nodded at Kate.

'This Eloise Hawking, would she be willing to help us?'

'Are you crazy!'

'Yes, I think she can help.'

'And who would be comin' along on this road trip of ours?' he asked quietly, his eyes darkening.

'I can only account for myself,' Kate replied, shrugging and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her left ear.

'Jesus H Christ! Are you two listening to yourselves?'

'Cool it Bonsai, ain't no one moving just yet,' he muttered, not breaking his gaze with Kate.

Miles rubbed his face and practically jumped out of his seat, kicking the bar in the process. He held out his arms half-heartedly and looked around the bar incredulously, attracting some hooded and curious glances, but lucky for him _The Crown _wasn't exactly a biker's bar. 'I'll wait for you outside,' he said in defeat, dropping his hands. 'Pick your damn car up tomorrow when you get brains back.'

Turning and leaving, Miles slammed the door behind him.

'His a touchy guy isn't he?' Kate commented, watching him go with a tilt of her head.

Laughing ironically, James shook his head. 'You do sound kinda crazy, hell I ain't one to be biased but his right. This probably ain't gonna work all that well Freckles.'

'But you want to. I can just see it, you want to come and try, its_ something _isn't it?' she egged him on. 'Sleep on it, Sawyer. You know where to find me when you decide.'

With that she stood and left swiftly, without a look back at him. James blinked several times and took a deep breath. He didn't know what to think of any of it, but it sounded like a fighting chance. So where would he find Juliet? Or when?

1974? Just before they got together? But if he prevented that? They would never get together, and besides she wouldn't really know him. Messing with time lines put everything in jeopardy. For all he knew Atticus could just vanish, or worse he, himself would...and leave him alone, without a single parent.

It would be little Jimmy Ford all over again.

That was the last thing he wanted.

Throwing two fifties down and leaving he felt anger burn through him. He loathed Kate for making him believe it was possible even for that one second. It wasn't.

James left the bar and without a word got into Miles car, leaning back briefly as he pulled the car out of parking narrowly.

'You're considering it aren't you?' Miles spoke quietly.

'Nope, it don't make any sense. It ain't possible,' he said in defeat, staring out the window desolately. 'Its too dangerous.'

'Amazing, I didn't think you would get it through your thick skull this quickly,' he shook his head and breathed a deep sigh of relief. They drove in silence for the next minute, each to his own thoughts.

* * *

**August, 1977 - DHARMA**

He woke with a swift kick to the stomach, and bolted upright. On his guard, he grabbed the offending foot and held it in place before beginning to tickle Atticus. Laughter echoed through the silent morning hours, as the small boy squirmed away and launched himself at him again, knocking him flat into bed.

'Agh, your getting big,' he muttered barricading himself with two hand from the offending tickles delivered by two small hands.

'Big! Big! Big!' Atticus roared poking him defiantly.

However, amongst the chaos and early morning attack he could smell pancake batter and blueberries filling the small house. It seeped through the think walls and above the lumpy couch, making his stomach grumble loudly. They needed new furniture and he needed breakfast.

'Alright, breakfast time,' he said, throwing the boy over his shoulder and hiking out of the room. Atticus roared in laughter all the way to the hall, until James straightened him up in his arms.

'Took you a while,' Juliet said without turning away from the batter that was slowly evolving into breakfast.

'It ain't exactly forty winks with Stein around here,' he said, tickling him again and punctuating the conversation with another burst of laughter. James chuckled to himself and put Atticus in the high chair, then ruffled his hair. Standing to his full height, however, he saw her watching him with the spatula in one hand and a little smile on her face.

'James, his name is Atticus,' she said shaking her head fondly.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. 'Hell, his named after a lawyer and he can barely string a sentence together yet. And since when have I ever called anyone by their name?'

'May I remind you Atticus Finch was a _fictional _lawyer. And you didn't pick everyone else's name,' she protested, flipping their persistent breakfast and returning her laser eyes on him again.

He approached her until he was standing a foot away, his smile accentuating one dimple. 'Maybe that's why I insist on giving them new ones, Sunshine.'

She rolled her eyes pressed a kiss into his cheek. 'Good morning.'

'Now it is,' he whispered as he kissed her on the opposing cheek and then softly brushing his lips against her neck, before reaching around her and dipping his finger into the raw batter and licking it off.

Juliet laughed, tugging at the end of his hair playfully. 'Oh that's gross, and for your information your at risk of salmonella.'

Shaking his head he moved out of the kitchen and took Atticus' bowl and cup from the cupboard. 'Well wouldn't that just be a cruel twist of fate?'

Arching an eyebrow Juliet nodded to herself, then frowned without a word as a shadow passed over her features.

Setting the bowl and spoon down in front of his son James sighed to himself. Juliet always lapsed into reverent silence whenever the chance of his death came up in conversation, or if he mentioned it. All the usual "in-cases" and "in the unlikely events of" situations where shut out by her and him equally when she brought it up too. They made pretend turns of events couldn't possibly be _that _shitty.

But sometimes, during long graveyard shifts he took once a week James would get to thinking. He'd clutch his miserable mug of coffee in front of the multitude of monitors and wonder if fate was that shitty to him when he was just eight, it didn't have any reason not to be now.

Thinking that made him want to take shelter. Become religious maybe, ransom a little luck for prayer or something he had never done before. But he had never been a big believer, and the random events, the unknowns terrified him.

This was all they had; each other.

He glanced down the corridor at the couple of cardboard boxes and took a deep breath, he couldn't wait to leave this rock, he couldn't wait to get into that sub and _feel _the island wash from him as the real world reclaimed them. It was only a week to leaving now.

They had made their peace with the past.

James briefly smiled at that thought and ran a hand through Atticus' hair whilst the boy drew imaginary patterns in the air with tip of the spoon. He made soft noises under his breath adding sound effects to the contraptions his young mind summoned.

The kid's hair always seemed to be growing and going topsy turvy, getting in his eyes, sticking out of place, getting tangled every morning and impossible to brush during important events like dinner at Horace's and Christmas and Juliet's birthday last month.

'Atticus needs a haircut before we leave,' he said absentmindedly, still in his thoughts.

Agreeable silence answered his statement for a moment as Juliet turned back and watched the two of them. 'I love you, James.'

He looked up and watched her against the backdrop of the swaying curtains of the morning light. He'd never loved her more.

* * *

**August, 2011 - LA**

'Miles,' he muttered, looking ahead and watching cars on the other side of the road blurring in the reach of headlights.

Looking at him for a moment and examining him seriously, Miles wondered if he was okay. This was the first time in their six year friendship that Lafleur - James - had said his real name. He felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and his throat go dry.

'Yes?' he said, a heavy seriousness hanging about the two of them.

'Tell me again what she said,' he said into the staling quiet of the car without looking at him.

'You already know,' Miles answered, reluctant to relive that minute of his life. He didn't want to remember kneeling on the ground and touching the earth she was below again. He didn't want to remember that drifting voice between this world and the next. Between this universe and that. Between them and her.

Her and him.

'I can't wait another lifetime to see her,' James whispered to himself and looked back out the passenger window as they passed through the green-lit intersection.

Suddenly a light flooded the car, and every inch of it shone brightly for a moment. The chasm of darkness was filled and James felt his pupils narrow and his breath catch in his throat.

Like a tin can being kicked the car spun tail first, etching tyre marks into the asphalt as it crumbled in with each point of impact.

A soft drizzle of glass fell amidst the steam in the mild August night.

* * *

**I will be updating very shortly (I've gotten most of the next chapter already written), so don't worry. Also if you're worried James is dead and everything had gone to pieces and this will essentially become really angsty, please don't worry. **

**I have a plan. ****Anyway, thanks for reading. Please, review if you get a chance, I appreciate all forms of feedback :)**

**ps. I probably won't have any more extensive Author's notes on chapters after this. **


	3. Morning News

**August, 2004 - LA**

The walls screamed with the music of sirens and he felt his skull threatening to crack. His eyes opened to blinding light and he clamped his teeth down on the sound trapped in his throat.

This single scream he had been holding since before he could remember.

It felt like the same scream he had denied himself when he saw his father's feet lax and the bed shook above him.

_The same scream he bit back when he felt air whipping past him after he jumped from the helicopter._

_That scream he swallowed when she stopped breathing in his arms. _

Suddenly, however he bolted upright, falling out of bed before the light had dissipated. In search of a calendar, in search of a phone, in search of something he knew he was missing, but couldn't quite place.

Like two worlds gluing together, like metal fusing with metal and ice-cream melting into a sidewalk he felt the past, this moment and future merging. But the substance of neither made sense.

There was only the persistent sensibility and notion of being lost, and in a constant search.

He froze, the colours and lights of the average sized room coming to his view, an unmade bed, a dresser, mirror and what he presumed were last night's jacket and shirt crumpled on a seat in the corner.

What?

What the hell had been that dream?

He sat back down on the bed and looked around him, as if he could find whatever it ... or this person was - on the floor, or on the wall.

The hum of morning traffic throbbed around him, and James sat in the hubbub of his average life until the dream seeped into the fabric of sleep.

* * *

**August, 2011 - LA**

Atticus slipped down the stairs in the sly morning hours when no one was awake. He held out a hand and let it bounce rhythmically between individual parts of stair banister.

_Thump, thump, thump, _until his feet hit the cold tiles at the bottom and he felt his arms tingle. Running into the living room with eyes wide and sleepless he dug the the remote out of couch and plunked down. With set eyes and a serious face he rose the remote with both hands like a gun, making pretend he was Marshal Kane in _High Noon_, or Earp in _My Darling Clementine_, or any of those good folk in the Westerns his dad took him to on Sundays.

'Bang! Bang!' he whispered in a strained voice as he rolled onto his side, watching the tv flash on and off, the screen lighting up to show the early morning news and quickly darkening again.

Mindful not to wake Aunt Rachel or Julian he pretended to horse-back onto the next couch and slipped his hands along the top of the remote. 'Bang! Bang!' he mouthed, the tv flashing on and off again, big words flashing on screen.

'Bang!'

_(AJIRA SI-)_

'Bang!'

_(-X MEMBER)_

'Bang!'

_(CAR ACCI-)_

'Bang!'

Atticus' heart hammered in his chest as he landed on the ottoman in the corner and poised himself, perched on the edge of the seat. He watched the dark screen, looking at the slanted reflection of himself.

He remembered, they called Daddy and Uncle Miles "Ajira Six", because they came on the plane when he was small, but that was so long ago and sometimes kids reminded him at school, and asked if he was on that then what number was he?

See, they all thought it was something like the _Fantastic Four_, but it wasn't. He couldn't stretch and he couldn't fly, he couldn't disappear and he wasn't made of giant pieces of rocks (he didn't think it looked like rocks) stuck together.

So, he had asked and his Daddy, who had told him that if they asked he could say he was "Sixth and a Half", just to "get 'em of his back about it". Atticus wasn't sure what the latter had meant so he ignored it, but he could count to halfs before anyone in his class.

Slowly, he pressed the ON button with a single index finger.

'Atticus, I thought I told you not to play cowb-,' Rachel's voice huffed with a yawn halfway down the stairs until the her blurry morning eyes met the 60 inch's image.

James picture from three years ago looked back at her, and she remembered the first time he had showed up at her door; with dark circles around his eyes and distraught eyes, introducing himself in a brief kind of way, like it should have been easy for her to believe a single word of what he said.

That had been about six months after they found "The Ajira Six", supposedly six months and two weeks after Juliet had died.

Now the news headline ran above him and a woman spoke over a black and white image of a traffic camera.

..._driver of the 4WD had reportedly fallen asleep at the wheel and driven through a red light. Both the unnamed driver and Miles Straume have been hospitalised. Mr Straume is reportedly in a stable condition, whilst the truck driver is still recovering in a mild coma. _

_Mr Ford, who was at the time in the passenger seat, died shortly after arriving at the hospital without regaining consciousness, orphaning his son Atticus, who arrived on the Ajira plane with him almost three years ago._

Atticus looked back at a picture of himself from almost a year ago at the LA Discovery Centre. He wore a overly large cowboy hat as he sat on his Daddy's shoulders beside a huge taxidermy Polar Bear. His three year-old self was pulling on James' ears, who in turn was blow a raspberry.

In a haze he turned to his aunt, staring at her with wide, clear eyes. 'Aunt Rache,' he called. 'Aunt Rache?'

Her head shot to him and she rushed to him, gathering him in her arms. 'Its okay, its okay, its okay,' she murmured over and over again, rocking back and forth slightly.

'Aunt Rache, when is Daddy picking me up?' he whispered, as she drew back and looked into his paling face. 'What's OR-fanning?'

However she didn't answer. He just watched as tears fell from her eyes and he was reminded of accidentally leaving a tap on amongst the clutter of fear that he perceived. He watched a single tear fall onto the front of her pyjama shirt and he began sobbing. Atticus leaned into her arms, his small shoulders quivering.

He felt funny, like when you jumped on the trampoline, but on the way down you got a little scared and your stomach flipped a little. It was registering for him slowly, but he understood.

Atticus didn't know what "OR-fanning" was, but he knew was "dYed" was. His mum had died, that's what his Daddy told him just once.

He never got to see his mum, and that made him cry harder because he probably wouldn't get to see his dad much either.

But then did that mean his Daddy and Mum got to see _each-other _instead?

* * *

Kate arrived later in the morning, her eyes puffy with sleep and tears. She guessed the milk she had spilled that morning whilst the news played in the kitchen was already souring on the tiles. Standing at the reception and waiting for a nurse in colourful scrubs to finish talking she inexplicably wished she had cleaned the floor before rushing out the door.

There was no one to rush _to. _

Sure, she knew Miles, but they were hardly friends. It was James she had known, maybe loved at some point, and he was dead.

Tears were welling up again and she swallowed them, nodding at the directions given to her. Feeling the need to buy some time before seeing Miles she took a turn around sterile halls and bought flowers at the gift shop, eyeing the general hospital-goers with an uncertain disposition. There seemed to be two default modes amongst them; optimistic, or pessimistic.

Either buying chocolates, or buying flowers.

Straightening up her back, she returned to the counter.

'Hello, I would like to refund these for...a box flaked truffles,' she said quietly to the old lady, who stared back kindly with absolute passivity.

'I'm sorry Sweetheart, the gifts are non refundable,' she responded, tapping a sign above the counter.

_NO REFUNDS_

'I was here a minute ago,' Kate said, feeling her patience running out whilst the smell of the tulips began sending her over the edge.

'I'm sorry, but its policy,' the woman grew curt and tapped the sign more insistently with her full blast, neon-orange acrylic nails.

Eyes narrowing and feeling her ears flush red with embarrassment, Kate pulled out the receipt. Goddammit, but she wanted chocolates. Flowers were for guests in comas, flowers were for were the sick person's other guests to feel better when they sat by the bedside.

No one was sitting beside Sawyer's bedside, he was dead, and she didn't want to give Miles flowers, because she refused to believe two of them would simply kick the bucket at the same time.

'Your receipt is no good m'am,' the lady said loudly.

'Hey, c'mon darlin'! What's the damn hold up?' a beefy man three shoppers back in the line yelled.

Kate whipped around, clutching the flowers, and frowning. Without a word she withdrew from the queue and batted down the intrusive eyes of those behind her with a cold glare.

Suddenly, cries moving through the corridors interrupted them. Rushing forward Kate discarded the tulips on a plastic waiting chair and watched as a figure in hospital robes hopped ridiculously down the pristine corridors with bare feet and a cast, carelessly flinging around with every step, knocking out an intern as he came.

'THE MORGUE, WHERE THE FUCK IS MORGUE!' it was Miles, screaming at all those standing watch, and hightailing it away from two Doctors and three nurses.

One of his eyes was shut in a blackened bruise, and his arms were covered in scratches, but his scrawny chicken legs that propelled him forward seemed to be just fine.

'Shit,' she muttered, as he neared her, wondering if she should stop him...or run beside him. Or anything at all.

He skidded to a stop for a second beside her. 'Kate! Where is the morgue? Where is it?' he asked breathlessly, glancing back at the hospital staff who were running with their coats billowing behind them.

'Miles, what are you doing?' she said in a daze, looking him up and down.

'Shit,' he tugged on her arm. 'Come on!'

Taking a deep gulp of air and deciding against her better judgement she ran beside Miles, almost having trouble keeping up with him. They twisted in and out of corridors and knocked wheel-chairs and the elderly out of the way, looking at the signs that shone out at the them.

_SURGERY ROOM 1-5 _

_RECOVERY WARD_

_MORGUE_

_CHILDREN'S WARD_

'Morgue! Morgue!' Miles yelled feebly as though he had won the jackpot. Galavanting down a narrow corridor he smashed into a pair of double doors shoulder first and fell back, his face scrunching up in pain.

Kate however spotted the red admittance button and smashed it with her palm like a player on _Hot Seat. _'You're an idiot,' she told him breathlessly, pulling him through the door before it shut.

The cool of the area swallowed them and a single door resembling a walk-in fridge at the end of a narrower corridor bleared in the florescent lights. Miles opened it with flourish and Kate locked it behind them.

She saw him take a breath and rub his hands together, his face set in a formal expression

'Shit, its cold,' he hissed, beginning to unlatch the door to the first morgue chamber.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, I had to upload this chapter, because that cliff-hanger was kind of cruel I admit. **

**Please leave any comments you have, all of them are really, really appreciated. :)**


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